


Voyage

by ahegaokin



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Hurt!Jim, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 06:33:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8834098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahegaokin/pseuds/ahegaokin
Summary: One of many infinite instances of Jim getting himself injured in the line of duty.





	

**Author's Note:**

> hey this is my little attempt to get re-used to writing regularly! thanks so much for reading!!

The sight of blood in the transporter room is stark and startling to those on duty as they beam Kirk and his away team aboard the ship. The six of them appear on the pad in a jumbled heap, a protective petal of people all surrounding Jim. The distress call had come in moments before—Spock’s calm, clipped voice requesting an immediate beam up.  

 

 _“The Captain has sustained significant bodily injury. I repeat: Enterprise, beam us up_ now _.”_

 

They dirty the white floor as soon as they collapse together, Jim’s blood spilling from between his white knuckled hands.  The wounds there are so deep they’re almost black, made of four parallel, diagonal gouges spanning from his shoulder to his stomach. The only indication of distress from Spock is the slight crease between his brows as he hefts Jim into his arms. The captain’s shallow, panicked breathing comes from between clenched teeth and bloodless lips—their rosy appeal gone as he writhes in silent pain.

 

“Spock—” he grits out. His face smoothes suddenly and goes limp in Spock’s arms.

* * *

  


“You worry too much, Bones. You’re gonna send yourself into an early grave,” Jim says while playfully flicking his friend’s nose with his finger. He’s met with an annoyed snort and a narrowing of eyes that promises his next physical will _not_ be a pleasant one.

 

Lip curled, Bones says, “ _You’re_ the one sendin’ me into an early grave. See every one of these gray hairs? Your fault, Jim. You’d better not come back dead.”

 

“How can I come back if I’m dead?” Jim teases, stepping backwards onto the transporter. “I’ll see you in an hour, tops. Try not to worry yourself sick, my sweet doting wife.”

 

He punctuates his jeering with a few loud kisses, much to Bones’ ire and Spock’s barely hidden annoyance. The slight raise of an eyebrow is all that gives it away, and in response Jim traces the circle of a halo above his golden head.

* * *

  


“Blood pressure dropping,” McCoy notes quietly. He brushes sweat from his brow under the lights, working diligently on sealing Jim’s wounds and preventing the loss of any more precious blood. Jim’s lips are parted as he breathes in jagged, short gasps. A nurse tilts his head back to help him breathe, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

 

“Get me a hypo—Spock you can’t be in here,” he snaps over his shoulder. “Security!”

 

“But the captain—”

 

“Tend to the ship, you idiot!” McCoy’s eyes burn over the surgical mask. “Of all times you pick to feel, it’s over _my_ surgeon’s table!”

 

Two men from security—Spock recognizes them as Davis and Leopold—hook their hands under his arms, pulling him backwards and out of the room.

 

“Something’s wrong—nurse! The wound’s necrotizing!”

 

The door shuts in his face as if McCoy himself slammed it.  

Logically, he knows there are many good reasons not to be in the operating room. He is contaminated, both with both Jim’s blood and pollen from the planet they came from. He is emotionally compromised. He is likely injured as well, although much less seriously than Jim. He is emotionally compromised. It is his responsibility to take the helm in any event in which Jim cannot. He is emotionally compromised. There is nothing he can do.

 

_Emotionally compromised._

 

The numb feeling in his chest refuses to subside. Unhelpfully, his mind replays the crystal sharp image of Jim pale and gasping for air.

 

_Two times two is four._

 

Jim smearing blood on his uniform as he grabs Spock, desperate for comfort, silent in agony.  

 

_Four times four is sixteen._

 

Jim whispering his name before going into shock—and if surgery is unsuccessful (he quietly chastises himself for putting doubt in the good doctor’s abilities, but the math of the situation does fill him with doubt), that may very well be his last words…

 

_Sixteen times…_

 

_Sixteen…_

* * *

 

The thing had come from the shadows, dense with muscle and glowing yellow eyes, trampling through the trees and towards the away team. Spock had done exactly what his training dictated—but to no avail. He, along with two others, were swatted easily out of the way with one massive paw, leaving the captain— _Jim_ —directly in line with the beast’s glinting, ivory fangs.

 

The attack itself was so quick—there was a frantic shout, desperate and breathy, the shot of a phaser, silence.

 

Then Jim, on his back, holding his side as blood poured sluggishly through his fingers, the beast limp and on its side by his feet.

 

Swaying, Spock stumbled over to him, pressing his hands to the wound to—

 

 _Agony_ had met his mind, stabbing right through his shields, latching on and demanding attention.

_Spock it hurts. Spock it hurts. Spockithurts. Spockithurts. Spock. Spock. Spock._

 

“Spock to Enterprise, Enterprise come in.”

 

“Enterprise to Sp—”

 

“Beam us up.”

 

“Sir?”

 

“The Captain has sustained significant bodily injury. I repeat: Enterprise, beam us up _now_.”

* * *

 

 

“Hoverin’ won’t make him wake up any faster,” McCoy points out unhelpfully. The bags under his eyes are nearly purple and the anger in him has give way to a miserable tension. Spock doesn’t spare him the slightest look, keeping his dark eyes fixed to Jim’s pale face. His breathing has evened out and, much to everyone’s delight, _some_ color has returned to his face. Spock theorizes that must be a good thing.

 

“You’re lucky you got your hands on whatever the hell bit him. If we hadn’t be able to synthesize that antitoxin…” He stops himself, resting his arms by Jim’s side, hanging his head.

 

The thought of their only shared, closest friend lying in a morgue instead of a biobed chills the room.

 

“What I’m tryin’ to say is, good job. You saved Jim’s life.”

 

“I have done no such thing,” Spock whispers in a voice that screams of pain. Protecting his captain—the one duty he has that comes even before the Enterprise, or himself—and he had failed. It jabs at his pride and his heart each time he thinks of it.

 

“You gotta give yourself _some_ credit,” McCoy murmurs, “‘cause you know Jim will once he wakes up.”

 

“...And there is no use arguing with the Captain.”

 

McCoy offers a little smile. “And that’s for damn sure. The man’s more stubborn than the will of kings—no use arguing—especially when it comes to you.”

 

Together they watch Jim’s chest rise and fall, his brow smooth and free from tension, blonde lashes fluttering in sleep. His still fingers rest in the middle of Spock’s open palm and for Spock’s sake, McCoy pretends not to notice.

  
  



End file.
